


Company of Friends

by TheBeeThatHums



Series: Supernatural One Shots [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester, Songfic, all the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-11 10:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17445197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBeeThatHums/pseuds/TheBeeThatHums
Summary: Things went horribly wrong. Now Sam and Dean are looking at an empty back seat and reminiscing about happier times when you were around to fill it.





	Company of Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This one turned out way sadder than I expected... Sorry about that.
> 
> The song is Company of Friends by Danny Schimdt

 

 _When I die, let them judge me by my company of friends_  
_Let them know me as the footprints that I left upon the sand_  
_Let them laugh for all the laughter_  
_Let them cry for laughter’s end_  
_But when I die, let them judge me by my company of friends_

The Impala rushed down the road, eager to be far away from the terrible reality. A silence settled over the car like it rarely did- no music blaring from its speakers as Dean put all his focus on the road with a death grip on the wheel and Sam looked out the passenger window with a clenched jaw. In the air that rushed by, Dean swore he heard your laugh the one filled with squealed joy and ground his teeth as he fought back the tears pressing at his eyes.

Never again.

That laugh was gone and had taken with it the soft melodic giggles and the teasingly purred chuckles.

All of it was gone.

Sam suddenly let out a soft, sad chuckle, the noise laced with nostalgia, and Dean responded with a low warning growl, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head, “Just remembering.”

“Remembering what?” Dean pressed, a hint of hopeful curiosity under the overwhelming grief-fueled anger.

“The day we met her.”

A soft bittersweet chuckle bubbled up from Dean’s chest as he recalled you standing over a decapitated vampire with an almost giddy grin on your face, calling out a cheerful, “Hiya,” to him and Sam, He’d never told Sam but when you came to free them from their bonds you’d leaned in and purred in his ear, “Shame. I like the look of you all tied up.”

His heart had nearly stopped then and there.

You’d just patted his cheek with a sly grin and laughed that happy unrestricted laugh.

He let out a more solid chuckle and then immediately frowned when he remembered he’d never hear that laugh again.

 _When I die, let them toast to all the things that I believe_  
_Let them raise a glass to consciousness_  
_And not spill a drop for grief_  
_Let the bubbles rise at midnight_  
_Let their tongues get light as thieves_  
_And when I die, let them toast to all the things that I believe_  
  
When they couldn’t bear the quiet anymore, Dean pulled off the never-ending trail of asphalt and parked in front of a bar. Neither brother said a word, sliding out of the car and slamming their doors in sync. There was no scolding from Dean for treating his baby roughly, no disappointed look from Sam over Dean’s inevitable drinking, only tense silence as they strode into the bar and claimed a shadowed booth away from the crowd.

No beers for the Winchesters tonight.

No.

It was a hard liquor night. A night to drink until the pain faded and they could remember and then drink some more so they could forget.

Dean just stared into the thick golden liquid as if trying to find some hidden message in the bottom of his glass and Sam cleared his throat, “She wouldn’t want us to act like this, Dean.”

The older brother nodded, you’d always hated it when they got broody and dark, and then raised his glass with a forced smile that came across as more of grimace, “A toast then- to her life and the times we shared.”

“To her,” Sam echoed, raising his glass before both of them drained their glasses with a toss of the head and a flick of a wrist.

Quiet again.

Sam wondered if the quiet had always been this agonizing or was it just the absence of your cheerful chatter that made it seem that way. In the end, it didn’t matter, he realized, fingering his empty glass as Dean waved for another round, either way, it seemed wrong.

A tiny smile curled at the edges of his lips as a memory sprang up in his mind- He and Dean were researching and you’d burst into their room belting Warrant’s Cherry Pie at top of your lungs.

You’d leaped on to one of the beds and pointed at him as you sang, “I scream, you scream- we all scream for her. Don’t even try ‘cause you can’t ignore her.”

Dean was quick to join you, jumping up on the bed to dip you down as you kicked a leg towards the ceiling. Sam had been unable to stop a laugh from escaping his lips and later, when you were laying on your stomach next to him, humming the same song, he’d asked you, “Why?”

Your answer was simple, delivered with a grin, “I hate silence. It’s boring.”

Returning to the present he looked up at his brother, hesitantly venturing in a low voice, “She’d want us to remember the good times…”

Dean nodded, ruffling a hand through his hair and then running a thumb over his lips before meeting his brother’s eyes, “Then let’s remember. For her.”

_I believe in restless hunger_  
_I believe in red balloons_  
_I believe in private thunder_  
_In the end, I do believe_

Sam started, downing another throat burning swig before clasping his fingers around the empty glass and humming, “Do you remember that time she woke us up early and made us take her to the zoo three states over? ‘I can’t sleep. Too restless,’ she said, yanking you off the bed and throwing your clothes at you. Even hit you in the face with a shoe.”

Dean chuckled, a distant look in his eyes, “She never could sit still. Even after I agreed to get ready, she was bouncing all around the room like a sugar-high hummingbird. Then you both made me listen to that British crap the whole car ride there.”

“The Beatles aren't crap, Dean. Besides, you loved it.”

“She was so happy- singing her heart out and leaning over the back of the front seat. It was hard to be upset,” he defended, cocking his head to the side before giving it a little shake.

“We got there and she was out of the car like a bolt of lightning. I had to run to keep up with her and when we finally did, she slapped a red balloon on each of our wrists as she scolded us for being slow. Then she looked up with that grin, tugging on the strings to make sure they were secure…”

“ ‘So I’ll never lose you guys,’ “ they quoted in sync.

In the end, it had been them that needed to be worried about losing you.

Isn’t that always the way.  
  
_I believe in inspiration_  
_I believe in lightning bugs_  
_I believe in slow creation_  
_In the end, I do believe_

There was a pause as another round of drinks was procured and Dean shook his head, “She could kick some demon ass in total seriousness one second and then giggle over something so small and seemingly innocent the next. Remember that time in Kansas? We stumbled out of that run down building covered in blood, dead vamps everywhere, and what did she do? She bounced off to chase a damn lightning bug.”

Sam let out a soft laugh, “Caught it too. Right in the middle of that field next door.”

“The look on her face when she looked up and saw that there were near a hundred more…”

“Priceless,” Sam breathed.

Dean finished another drink, chuckling, “Her eyes went so wide I thought they were going to pop out of her head...Did she ever tell you what she whispered to that lightning bug before she let it go?”

“Nope. You?”

“Nah. Every time I asked she just said it had another bigger purpose- another moment in life waiting to be created.”

Dean’s gaze focused on the table, the image of you, caked in blood, cradling the small creature in your hands so carefully as your lips trusted it with a secret neither of you would ever share flashing through his mind. You’d seemed so innocent, lifting your arms up to the night sky a moment later to let the little ball of light resume its short life with a soft secretive giggle.

A quiet settled over the table as both brother’s eyes glazed over but it was different from the one that had weighed down on them before, their minds taking them on a journey through all the memories that there would never be enough time to share aloud- even if they talked until they were grey and old.

_I believe in ink on paper_  
_I believe in lips on ears_  
_I believe what's shared is savored_  
_In the end, I do believe_

Dean’s inner mind played the images like a flickering home movie projected on a tattered sheet, the memories of moments of content and joy amid a life of hardship seeming well loved and worn.

He watched you writing a letter, the ink smudging across your fingertips and your tongue peeking out of your mouth as you struggled to keep your handwriting more legible than your normal rapid scrawl. You always loved writing letters when you could and Bobby and Ellen must have hundreds of them- little snippets of history waiting to be made, you claimed. Even he and Sam each had a small stack of letters tucked away in the Impala’s trunk. You wrote one for each of them at least twice a year with the stern instruction not to open them until the date written on the corner of the envelope. You’d made them pinky promise.

The image changed and he could almost feel you, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear as you pointed out how you could prank Sam one slow winter morning. You were a ball of energy most of the time but you could always fall into a secretive quiet when you wanted to. Whether it was to plan some greater fun, to seductively purr teasing phrases, or just to preserve the silence for a moment on a hunt, you would drop your voice and bring your lips to his ear, letting the words caress the curve of it like a sweet summer breeze carrying the notes of some harmony from off in the distance. It never failed to send a shiver down his spine.

With a soft flicker, his mind brought up you stealing a bite of his pie and then running off before he could retaliate. He’d been so angry at first- no one messed with his pie- but that grin on your face eventually broke him down... that and the fork you threatened to jab into his arm. You always stole just one bite of his pie every time and when he’d finally asked you why you’d responded, “It tastes that much sweeter when you have someone to share it with.”

_I believe in work on Sundays_  
_I believe in raising barns_  
_I believe in wasting Mondays_  
_In the end, I do believe_

Sam’s mind fell into a similar state, calling up his memories of you on his own personal silver screen- his life with you in moments important enough to him that only this medium could do them justice.

You pouncing on his bed like a child at Christmas, trying to get him up and moving on, what was supposed to be, a lazy Sunday, took its place on the screen. You stole his blankets, tickled his feet, hit him with a pillow, and finally dragged him limb by limb off the mattress, standing over him once you’d dragged him to the floor. You’d put a hand on your hip and exclaimed, “Come on, you giant moose. Demons don’t laze about on Sunday’s and neither should you.”

The next day the situation had been reversed, he and Dean had had to try and talk you into getting out of bed with such little success that it was actually embarrassing. Dean had given in first, having moved to take your blanket and instead found himself pulled on to the bed with you. He was easily persuaded to stay when you snuggled into his side with a sleepy yawn- his own tiredness making it hard to say no. Sam had sighed, “God, Dean, when did you become such a pushover? …Come on, (F/n). What happened to demons don’t laze about and we shouldn’t either?”

You’d simply yanked him into the bed with you and Dean, mumbling, “That was Sunday’s. Demons definitely laze about on Monday’s.”

_I believe in intuition_  
_I believe in being wrong_  
_I believe in contradiction_  
_In the end, I do believe_

Dean startled when his little brother suddenly wondered, “Do you think she’s watching over us? Where ever she is?”

The older Winchester had never been one to believe in an afterlife or heaven- with all the things they saw it just didn’t make sense in his mind- but at this moment, he hoped he was wrong. Something in him felt like just this once he could admit that there was something more, even if it went against everything he believed in.

“Yeah, Sammy. I think she is.”

_I believe in living smitten_  
_I believe all hearts will mend_  
_I believe our book is written_  
_By our company of friends_


End file.
